The Menu

Twig has been doing his very best to be a helpful boy lately. A few days ago he created a full menu for which he wants complete and total responsibility for cooking, serving, and cleaning up.

He wanted to be responsible for this menu on Friday but for some reason it didn't happen. He was tired and Grammie wanted to go out to eat. Twig and I stayed home because he just couldn't handle going out. Saturday night we were busy doing something else that I can't remember at the moment because I'm kind of enraged.

Every time there's a large transition in our lives Twig has bladder and bowel incontinence issues. I've always known when things are rough for him because potty problems appear out of nowhere and into my nose... They've resurfaced lately. Pee and poo everywhere. Daily. Often multiple times daily.

He's typically a refuser of taking care of his potty needs. He never needs to pee. Rarely needs to poo. In the toilet that is. Whenever I get a whiff, and it's typically an awful awful awful wretched smell, I give him a look and in the gentlest voice I can muster, ask him to "take care of business". He responds with his whiniest "What?" to which I respond, in the gentlest of voices I can muster, that he has had an accident. To which he denies. I ask him to clean himself up, to wash, change, etc. And he refuses. And I can't have him walking around with that terrible stink; the knowledge that he has poop on his butt drives me crazy. There are certain things I can't let go of. Things like shit.

Shitty pants have in the past, led to a rashy ass, which has led to doctor's appointments diagnoses of Staphylococcus infections, and 3 times daily application of ointment to said rash. Yeah. Staph.

Eventually we get to a place where I'm pretty much forcibly changing his poopy pants and underpants, cleaning shit off of him and his clothes (and the bathroom), and being screamed at that he doesn't need help, he hasn't done anything, that I'm a bad mom, to leave him alone, that he can't wait to go on an airplane by himself, etc. It is plain and simple: he hates me. I'm behaving in ways that make him hate me. And I'm trying to pick and choose my battles here.

In the middle of him cooking dinner tonight, I smelled "the smell". I asked him to change his clothes and clean himself up. He slammed the bathroom door. Multiple times. Screamed at me and called me bad, stupid, yadda yadda yadda. I offered to help. He told me to get out of the bathroom, that he didn't need help. I stayed and tried to explain that I understood it was embarrassing, that accidents happen, that we'd be visiting the doctor on Friday because we are worried that he can't feel it coming out, or smell it, or acknowledge that it's happened. I tried to force my help upon him. Eventually I gave in. Angry that it's difficult to get shit done (ha!) I barked my orders: change into clean clothes, wash ass, wash shit off of clothes, put washcloth in dirty washcloth tub, clean out shitty tub, wash hands. Call me if you want help.

He changed his underpants. Wet the washcloth, put it in the tub and resumed cooking. Lied to our faces about washing his hands. With still-shitty pants. And dirty hands. And guess what - suddenly I wasn't hungry any more. And neither was Wood. More screaming at me ensued. Horrible, mean, awful, bad mom.

Then he cooked. And ate. And served Grammie. And when that was done, I helped him get ready for his shower. In the process of helping him get undressed, I showed him the shit on his pants. And the shit that was on the clean underwear that he put on his ass that he didn't wash. And tried to express to him my frustration with him denying that it wasn't there in the first place. It was likely a lot less gentle than I'd like it to be. He's been acting out a LOT lately.

When he got into the shower, we talked about what had transpired. It came out that he thinks I'm mean to him all of the time. As hard as it was to hear that (since I don't always feel it), we accidentally dug a little deeper. My reserves and tolerance is terribly low - I'm done having this talk, this argument, this shit. I want the shower over and for him to go to bed. And after telling him what needed to happen next, he responded in a way that helped me understand that my directive, straight forward, no nonsense approach feels mean to him. I think that I try to reserve the barking for the times that it's really necessary. I give warning after warning, count from 3 to 1, suggest to him that my tone and body language are trying to convey something, suggest that he won't like it when I soon start yelling. But apparently to him the meanness is constant.

So, he's mean to me because he's "just giving it back". Wow, almost 7 years old and able to articulate all of that. But not manage his bowels. I don't know what to do. I feel so angry at him - and awful for not being able to suck it up and go with it. To pretend that everything is happy and good and that these kinds of things aren't a problem.

It's immeasurably difficult for me to let go when it's over. I get so worked up and it takes such a long time to come down. I wonder what is wrong with me, what is wrong with him. I'm fairly certain, even in the middle of it, that I'm doing exactly the same thing my mom did with me - being demanding, uncompromising, fiercely angry - and pushing him away faster than I need to. I question if letting him control everything that was important to him would calm his attempts to control things or make them worse. And I think back to my days working with people who had behaviorists involved in their lives - teaching me about The ABC's (Antecedent, Behavior, Consequense) of undesirable behavior. I know I have a part in it. And I know that this poo problem is not best served by natural consequences. I know he gets something from it too. Sure, we could ignore it, let him get a rash, and spread his feces all over the house. But I can't let it go. Any of it. I just can't.

We have an appointment to see a doctor this week. It concerns me that perhaps it isn't behavioral and I'm just now getting to exploring that possibility. Even though this problem has always been intermittent, I'm pretty certain it should have been addressed medically before now. I'm sure the stress of our lives is taking it's toll on Twig, too. And I'm feeling really shitty about myself, my behavior, the situation. All of the good that does happen doesn't cancel out the fact that I've behaved badly too.

Tonight, I missed dinner prepared by my favorite Chef. It's really my loss.